The Woman Named I
by theselectedfew
Summary: "It couldn't hurt that much, could it? Dying? Surely getting shot through the head would be a quick and easy way to go. Hopefully." Sherlock and Watson didn't know what they were getting into until it was too late. Watch as they get put in life threatening situations and what they do to solve the case! Note: Only rated T for mild peril. There is no language or adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It hurt when the needle went in. It went through my hand, straight to the bone underneath. "Don't worry," the woman had said, "This won't hurt. What's coming next will, though, if I do not get the information that I want." She was wrong. The needle created a searing pain when it had been stabbed into my flesh, and I wanted to scream when it hit the bone. It was like pain I had never felt before. It was pain that I never wanted to feel again.

The screaming pain slowed gradually to a dull ache. The woman was talking something to Sherlock, but I hadn't been listening, for I was terrified.

"…injected into the hand of the victim, which will cause instantaneous and immense pain to flash over the victim. But, only for a second. Then, the numbness will set in. It will feel like the drug is wearing off, but no; it is only beginning. The numbness will turn to blinding pain that will start in his feet and climb. It will feel as if a colony of fire ants is crawling under his skin, spreading their venom. The only way he won't die an _extremely _painful death is if you tell me what I need to know. I honestly couldn't care in the slightest if Mr. Watson here dies. But I know you do."

Suddenly, everything from the last couple of hours came into focus. I remembered; we had been investigating what had happened to these two children who were thought to have been kidnapped, when Sherlock stumbled upon something. I couldn't remember what it was, though. He had immediately handed it over to Lestrade, and then said something about us needing to leave. Yes, that was it. He had told me that we needed to leave because they were going to come for us. _Well apparently _that _didn't happen,_ I thought to myself.

These men had broken into the flat, and had put black hoods over our heads. Somewhere along the way, I had lost consciousness, and that was probably why I had a massive headache now. _So, the woman has us, and she wants whatever Sherlock found. Great. _

Sherlock was being held by two burly men in jet black suits, wearing a red insignia over their hearts. Sherlock looked distressed, but I couldn't figure out why. I wasn't in pain. The woman must have been wrong.

I looked around. We were in some kind of warehouse, with all the lights off except for some broken lamps here and there. There were lots of men in equally jet black suits, standing with their arms folded behind their backs. They were all listening intently to what the woman, their leader, presumably, was saying.

That's when the pain hit. It was like nothing I had ever felt before, reaching from the tips of my toes all the way to above my eyes. It felt as if someone had taken a hot coal and made me swallow it. No, it felt like a whole bucket of hot coals had descended into my body. It felt like insects were walking on the inside of my skin, chomping and biting and ravishing whatever they could lay the grimy little teeth on. I screamed.

Sherlock fell to the ground, a look of absolute agony on his face. He was trying not to shake, but he was quickly losing his calm composure. The woman laughed, but I didn't hear a word, for my hearing went in and out; the miserable pain was making my whole body shudder.

"Stop! I gave the information over to the police! Stop!" He tried to keep his voice even, though he was soon shouting in distress.

The woman waved her hands at the guards and said, "What does it matter? He can't do anything to help him anyways. Let him see his friend." The guards let go of Sherlock, and he immediately fell to the ground. He stood quickly, hurriedly walking over to where I was, tied to a chair. He grabbed the chair for support as tried to stay upright. He was taking deep breaths, trying to stay measured and even. His breath smelled of mint toothpaste and coffee, although why I was taking the time to notice that when my body was ravaged with pain was another mystery in itself. His presence comforted me, though. _Where was Mary? _I jerked, which sent a wave of pain through my body. Thoughts flashed through my pounding head, trying to figure out where she was. I frantically turned my head back and forth, even though it felt like icy daggers with each turn. Then I saw her, collapsed on the floor as another, different guard restrained her. She looked at me, anguished agony hiding behind a mask of braveness. She was staying strong for me.

"I," I coughed, turning with difficulty back towards the woman who was in charge. "I, we, don't, don't have the in, information-n you are aasking for. It was handed over to th, the pol-i-ce hoours ago. We do-nnot haave it." My voice staggered through what I had wanted to say, and my throat seared with pain; another suppressed wail of agony lifted from my throat. The woman laughed, and stepped forward. She bent down, and whispered, rather loudly, in Sherlock's ear.

"I don't care where the information is. And I don't care whether your friend lives to see tomorrow's sunrise or not. If you do not give me what I want," she cocked her head, "everyone you love will die, starting with Mr. Watson here."

She stood back up and spoke louder so everyone could hear her. "So come on, Sherl, dear, and just give me the information, because I _hate _to see you suffer." The guards laughed, like it was some kind of joke. I hurt so much that even my brain felt like it was being sawed in half, and I couldn't help but let out another stifled groan of anguish. I did not know how much more of this I could take.

Sherlock stood frozen in front of me. I tried to turn my head to look back at Mary, but instead succeeded at sending waves of pain shooting through my body, but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted the ones that I loved to be beside me.

Mary came running into view, sobbing and calling my name. "J-John? J-John? Please. Stay with me. With us. You can't leave us. You are such an amazing person. Please don't leave us. We would fall apart without you." She stooped on the other side of me, hugging me and laying her head on my shoulder; it sent another anguished cry from my lips. That's when my heart broke. I thought I had known pain before. I had been in a war, for goodness sake. But there was nothing as painful as this; seeing the two people I loved most in the world fall apart around me.

"Tick-tock, Mr. Holmes. Your precious John is within minutes of leaving you forever. Make up your mind, for he does not have long." And it was true, I was already seeing spots on the corners of my vision. I felt an eerie kind of sleepiness settling over me, like if I fell asleep, I would never wake back up.

Sherlock had pure torture in his eyes; clearly torn over handing over the information or saving my life. I honestly didn't care anymore; I just wanted the pain to end. A single tear threatened to fall over the brim of his eye, but he quickly brushed it away and stood. He turned and looked directly at the woman, clearing his throat to speak.

"Never," he said. And then I lost feeling in my legs.

**Hey guys! I hope you like it so far! I'd love if you would leave me comments so I can know what to improve on. Thanks! And happy reading :) **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Never, will I help you, if he dies. If you do not him the medication, you will never get your _precious _information. Give him the anecdote, and I will help you, but not before then will one helpful hint escape my mouth." He spat the words, which were dripping with hatred. For one long second, I thought he was going to attack her.

"Finally! Mr. Holmes, you have seen sense. I never really wanted to hurt your little friend, but I would have if I had had to." She grinned like a school girl and snapped her fingers. One of the guards came to her and gave an enormous needle. She sashayed forward slowly, taking her time to lengthen the moment. When she reached me, she pushed Mary away and Sherlock helped her to stand. By then, I couldn't feel my arms.

The woman leaned down and shook the needle slowly in front of my face. "I will give you this, but if your friend Sherlock here does not behave, then I will shoot you in that pretty face of yours." She pulled out her gun and pointed it at my forehead. "Or somewhere else." She lowered the gun slowly down my chest, pressing it into my body as she went. She drug out the last word, but not for me, for Sherlock. The world was getting pretty blurry now, and I felt that if she didn't give me the antidote soon, I would not last.

She jabbed the needle into my neck, and I shuddered in pain as now twice within ten minutes, a needle had entered my bones. Had it been only ten minutes? It had felt like an eternity. After a couple of seconds, the pain started to wash away. I wasn't in agony anymore, but my body still ached. It was like lying on a bed of ice that was pulsing endlessly. I had never felt so wonderfully pain free in my entire life.

Some men grabbed Sherlock and Mary, leading them toward a door on the other end of the warehouse.

The woman stepped back, holding the now empty needle, and I felt my hands being untied from behind the chair. The guards pulled me up, and I collapsed onto the floor. They yanked me up, more forcefully this time. I stumbled, and they practically dragged me towards the door that Mary and Sherlock had already been led through. When they opened the door, I was blinded by the outside light, and I stumbled again before the men hauled me up into a car of some kind.

Once I got I could see again, I saw that Sherlock was sitting across from me, with Mary draped across his shoulder. She was looking at me, her eyes now red from crying. She must have not been able to hold it together once she had been out of my sight.

"Oh John." Her voice cracked. "John." She cleared her throat. "John. John." She shook her head, like she was trying to erase the memory of all that had just happened. She tried to speak again, but no words escaped her lips. Sherlock stepped in.

"John… we are both… extremely worried about you. We…cannot express… how much… _love…_ that we both have for you." He picked his words carefully, as if it was one of the last things he would ever say to me. "Mary,.. as your wife,.. and me,.. as your… brother. We…" Sherlock was never speechless. How was he now?

"Look, John. Sherlock is going to make this right. You will not suffer again. We will not allow it. You are everything to us, and, knowing I speak for the both of us here, hurt to see you like that." Mary gave me a knowing look, which meant that the discussion was closed, and I was alright with that, seeing as that was the most emotion I had ever seen from either of them.

They almost looked good together, like they should have been together, not Mary and me. Mary's head fit like a puzzle piece in his shoulder, and his head laid slightly on hers as if they had done it forever. I dismissed it, though, for the thoughts must have been from whatever those monsters had given me.

"So… how are we going to do this?" I said slowly. "Is there a plan? A course-of-action? I don't want to go into this blindly, you know." I strained to sit up straighter, and Sherlock sat taller as well.

"Not yet."

"Not yet?" I scoffed. "Not _yet?_ Just _when,_ would you be so _kind_ to tell me, is the _ingenious _plan going to come about? It's not just going to appear out of thin _air._ And I'm _sorry,_ but I am _not _going to offer my _life _up again just so that _woman_can play around with me." My voice dripped with sarcasm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that." I shook my head, trying to clear it. All I knew was that moments ago, I had been in total agony, and I did not want to be again.

Mary slowly slid away from Sherlock came to my side. She draped her arm around me, and hugged me.

"Look, love," she said, pulling away to face me," I don't want to talk about what just happened. I'm just, I'm just glad that you are ok. Now, Sherlock is going to figure this out. I have full faith." She directed her words at Sherlock, almost like she was threatening him.

Sherlock bent forward and rubbed his temples. The car lurched forward, and we began to move away from the warehouse. The buildings started to blur together as we picked up speed, and Sherlock took out his phone; starting to type a message. The phone buzzed in his hands, and he typed furiously.

"Aaaahhh." He threw up his hands in disgust, his phone falling onto the floor. I picked it up and looked at it.

Lestrade:

Need to see the journal I gave to you.

Can't. It is already turned into evidence.

Lestrade. Now.

Can't. Sorry.

I started typing:

Emergency.

What is it?

Investigation gone bad. John's life on the life. Need that book.

Sherlock…

Please.

Sherlock tried to swipe the phone from my hand, but I swatted his hand away. We needed help, and he knew it just as well as I did.

…

Where are you guys?

On the way to the station.

We need help.

Work something out.

…

How long?

5 minutes.

We will be waiting for you.

I relented to Sherlock's insistent hands, and he snatched the phone away from me. He read it attentively, and when he was done, he sighed stubbornly and looked up at me.

"I could have done that."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When we pulled into the station, there were fewer guards than before. One guard pulled me out, and Sherlock followed, being careful not to make a scene. Mary scooched over to follow, but the third guard slammed the door in her face. She banged on the window, trying to get out of the cab, but the cab was already pulling away.

I turned around to come back for her, but the cab was already on the main road. I shouted her name feebly, not having the strength to struggle against the hold of my captor. Another cab pulled up, and the woman stepped out of the car before it was even fully stopped. The cab sped away, and we were left alone.

It was getting dark now, the sun setting on the skyline. The woman turned away from the station and watched the skyline for a moment. She sighed slowly, shaking her head, and then turned. _Why was she acting so strange?_ She walked purposely towards the door of the station, stopping as she got to the door.

"Remember, Sherlock," she said, turning towards him, "what will happen if I do not get what I want, whether it is _your_ faultor not." She paused again, looking at the sunset, as if she would never see it again. She had a distant look in her eye, and she looked as if she did not want to proceed. One of the men cleared their throat, and she shook her head once more. With that, she turned again and led us into the station.

Something pressed against my back. It felt cold, making me shiver in apprehension. Thoughts of the war flashed through my mind, muddling my thoughts. That _thing_ was a gun. I was their money; the barter that they were going to use to steal back their _precious_ information. I couldn't believe that I was like a rag doll to them; something that could be through around and toyed with, even if it meant my _life _was handing in the balance.

I couldn't figure out why they couldn't just use Sherlock, not having to bring me into the process at all, and then I remembered; he's _Sherlock._ As much as I hated to think about it, there were many people in the police station that wouldn't be entirely disappointed if Sherlock was gone. In fact, it would make a lot of their lives easier. A shiver ran through me, and I pushed away the thought.

The woman opened the door, walking as smoothly as if this were her home turf. I was pushed through the door, stumbling, and Sherlock reluctantly followed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lestrade had been very literal when he had said that he would be waiting for us. He and the entire rest of the station were standing, guns pointed, at us. The woman showed no cowardice, though. She even took a step forward.

"Go ahead. Shoot me. You won't. Because if you do, _both _of my captives will be shot dead." She laughed. "Although, Sherl never really picked a side; did you, sweetheart?" She turned and kissed him on the cheek. Sherl—Sherlock—grimaced, but didn't move. She patted his cheek and turned back towards Lestrade.

"I'm sorry, but I seem to have been alluded of your name, _sweetheart._" Sherlock stood up straighter, his hands clasped together behind his back, a smug look on his face.

She turned once more and took one giant, graceful step towards him, stopping just inches from his face.

"I, my dear, am Irene Adler. Do you not remember me? Well, I guess that's what money can do to a woman." She started picking at the sides of her face, peeling away some sort of mask. Shock rolled across his face, his eyes anguished. He took a step back and turned his head, shaking it to clear it, stumbling, and then regaining his balance.

"Oh yes, dearie, I'm back. I hadn't wanted to involve you in all of this mess, but you didn't hold up to my expectations. So, here we are." She spread her arms wide to indicate the police station. She threw the disfigured mask across the room, and it slid to a stop at Lestrade's feet.

"Now, back to business." She moved to stand beside Sherlock, sliding a gun from her belt and pressing it against his temple.

"Give me the book."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The policemen looked around at each other, not knowing exactly what to do. Lestrade surveyed each of the foreign men with a determined look, and cleared his throat with new purpose.

"I'm sorry, but we do not have the information that you want at this time." His voice was steady, calculated.

"Yes you do, so don't lie. It won't get us anywhere." The woman—Irene—smirked, showing her bright white teeth as she pushed the barrel of the gun deeper into Sherlock's curly hair.

Lestrade looked taken aback at this, and Irene took the chance to steal the words from his lips.

"Yes, yes, I understand that you cannot give me evidence or any information. But honestly, are you _really_ going to choose a piece of _information _over your friends' _lives?_ Even you can't go that low." Her voice had taken on a new tone, and it was menacing.

We were at a standstill. No one could kill anyone because if anyone killed someone, then everyone would die. Irene dug her nails into Sherlock's arm, and he winced. It was getting hard for me to stand, for I still didn't have all of my energy back, and cold fear gripped me when the man holding me moved the gun from the small of my back to the side of my head.

_It couldn't hurt that much, could it? Dying? Surely getting shot through the head would be a quick and easy way to go. Hopefully._

The seconds felt like hours as we stood, facing each other, expecting death.

Lestrade slowly lowered his gun, holding his free hand up in a sign of surrender.

"Ok, ok. We have the information. Just put down the gun, and we will get it for you."

Irene laughed outright. "Yes," she said, "and as soon as I we put down our guns, you will kill us with yours." Lestrade turned slowly, seeing that everyone was looking around, trying to figure out what to do. He swung his hand downward repeatedly, motioning for everyone to lower their weapons. He then turned back to face Irene, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Done. Now fulfill your half of the deal." He gestured to indicate the other policemen and said, "We're unarmed."

Irene grimaced, but slowly lowered her gun. Sherlock's hair was matted down where the gun had been, and he reached up to scratch it. The man holding me took the gun from my head, and I sighed inwardly with relief. The worst was surely over.

Lestrade turned slowly, seemingly trying to figure out what to do, when Irene spoke again.

"If you are trying to pull something over on me, it will not work. I will execute these two if I even _think _something is amiss. Now, _take _me to the book." She was clearly getting impatient, like she was on some sort of time limit. She glanced nervously at the clock on the wall, which was very unlike her.

Lestrade walked slowly, deliberately, towards the back of the police station. He led us toward his office. There was tension hanging in the air like at any moment, the whole room would explode. We all walked slowly, as if we were walking through a minefield. Lestrade reached the door to his office and fumbled with the key for a second, wasting time and making Irene even more impatient. Irene tapped her foot nervously. This was so unlike her. What was going on? There had to be something that I was missing. This all felt so _wrong._

Lestrade managed to unlock the door and open it, walking into his office. He stood there, holding the door, and letting us walk through. Irene, Sherlock, and I followed, whereas the other policemen and the henchmen stayed outside the door. When Lestrade shut the door and locked it, the men outside rushed forward and started banging on it and yelling. Irene had already pulled her gun out, but Lestrade held up his hands in surrender.

"Stop! Stop. I just want us to be able to talk, alone, that's all. No harm is meant to come to you." He unlocked the door to show her the truth behind his words, and the men came barging in, almost knocking Sherlock over. They were still yelling, but Irene hushed them with a wave of her hand.

"It is fine. Wait outside. You know what to do if anything goes wrong." The last sentence seemed aimed toward Lestrade, and he took the comment in stride. The men backed out of the office, still unsure, and Lestrade closed the door in their faces. The lock clicked into place, and the air hung still.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

We took the seats in front of Lestrade's desk, and he sat facing us. Irene cleared her throat, clearly agitated, and began to speak.

"Ok. We are in your office. Now _give me the book_. How many times will I have to ask you before I pull out my gun and shoot someone?" Her tone was amused, but the look on her face told me the she was serious.

"Ah, yes. Just a minute." Lestrade turned away from the desk, his back to us, and ruffled through some papers. I couldn't figure out how he was going to get us out of this, but all I could do was trust him.

"Here it is!" he said, turning slowly, taking his time. When he had turned fully, I saw that in one of his hands was the book, and in the others he was holding a gun, and it was carefully trained on Irene. She laughed.

"Did you really think I would fall for that?" She was standing, her gun aimed at Sherlock's head. _How could she possibly move that fast._ She smiled once more, and sighed.

"I _am _growing tired of these foolish games, so would you please give me the book now? Or, I could kill Sherl." She shrugged her shoulders. "Or John." She turned the gun towards me.

"I am soo done with you games. Give me the book, or I _will _kill one of them." Her voice had lost all of its humor, and I sensed that the end of this mess was coming soon. She reached her free hand out across the desk, cocking the gun with the other. Her fingers pointed at the book, and then lay flat again, but her eyes never left Lestrade.

He shook his head. Slowly, he reached across the desk and dropped the book into her open palm.

"Good," she said, sliding towards the door, pulling me with her. "Now open the door."

Lestrade clenched his fists, but rose from his chair and did what she said. We backed slowly out of the door, Lestrade and Sherlock trailing us. The men walking slowly in behind her, making sure none of the other policemen would attack. Everyone's guns were drawn, but it wasn't doing any good. Irene had won, and my life was in her hands once again.

Cold sweat ran down my back under my shirt. I was scared, I'll admit, because this woman was so unpredictable. She could kill me, or she could let me off without a scratch. We backed up towards the front door, each second hanging in the air. We were now feet from the door, and I could almost feel my freedom. _As soon as she got to that door,_ I realized, _she would probably let me go. She would run, and I would be safe._

One of the guards held the door open for us. Irene stopped, though, as if she was relishing the moment. She leaned towards my ear, and whispered into it.

"I'm sorry John. I hope you can forgive me." She moved the gun from my head and a sharp crack filled my ears.

The bullet tore through my side like a dagger that was on fire. Icy hot pain shot out in every direction inside my body. Irene let go of me as she turned to flee, and I crumpled to the ground. Agony, pure agony, seeped through my veins, taking up every empty space with fire.

Sherlock rushed towards me, sliding to a stop by my side while the other policemen ran out the door. _It's too late,_ I thought. _She's already gone._ Sherlock desperately searched for the wound, finding it, and pushing on it to stop the flow of blood. I cried out, trying to not let escape any of my tears. It had been a truly _awful _day. And just when I thought it was going to get better, I was to be murdered. By Irene Adler, no doubt. What a pathetic way to die. _Why did everything always have to happen to me?_

But there was no time to reminisce, because even with Sherlock's hand over the wound, I was losing too much blood. I would be dead in a matter of minutes. Lestrade came into view, and he shouted that he had already notified St. Bart's, but that there was no time for an ambulance. They would have to take me.

"This is going to hurt, John, but we have to do this, to save you." He counted to three, and Lestrade lifted my legs, while Sherlock cradled my head. I yelled out pain, but they kept going. We slid into an awaiting taxi, Lestrade shouting the address of St Bart's to the cabbie.

Sherlock had my head in his lap. He was muttering something, almost like he was praying.

"Please, John. Not twice. Not twice in one day. You can't die on me. You will not. I will not let you." He rocked my head back and forth, and each time shot white hot needles through by body, but I couldn't care less. If this _really was _the last few minutes of my life, I would enjoy them.

"Please, please call Mary." My throat was rough, and speaking hurt, but I had to let Mary know. Sherlock dialed the phone, and handed it to me. I coughed.

"Hello? John? Is that you?" Her voice was frantic, trying to conceal her panic.

"It's me, love. I—I need you to, come to St. Bart's. I—I've, I've been shot. In the side. I need you come. Please. I want you there." We were pulling into the emergency room now, and I was having trouble breathing. "I love you."

"O—ok. I'll be there." Her voice was choked up, holding back tears, but just barely. _When had we all become so sentimental?_ She cleared her throat. "I'll be there, and I'll see you." She was determined now, and it gave me a strength I never thought I could have. She hung up, and a single tear slid down my cheek as I started choking.

There was blood filling my mouth, and Sherlock was rocking me faster. I used the last strength I had left to roll over onto the floor, screaming in pain as I fell. Blood rushed out of my mouth, and I spit, trying to refill my lungs with oxygen.

The cab screeched to a stop, and Sherlock drug me out from the floor, pulling me towards the awaiting gurney. Black spots blurred my vision, and I started to lose consciousness. They ran me towards the hospital doors, Sherlock gripping the side of the gurney like if he let go, he would never see me again. We crossed over the threshold into the emergency room, and a nurse grabbed Sherlock, holding him back.

He reached out, still trying to reach me, but it was no use. I looked back, trying to catch one last glimpse of him before we turned a corner. I whispered his name as he flew out of sight, and then, the world collapsed into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

My eyes opened slowly, burning against the bright light of the ICU. There was an IV in my arm, and a light blanket was draped over me. I turned my head to see Mary, who was holding my hand, her eyes closed. Even though every little movement hurt, I made the effort to squeeze her hand. She opened her eyes immediately, smiling so big it hurt me.

Sherlock walked in then, holding two cups of steaming tea and some sack lunches. He looked up and saw me, eyes astonished. He set the food down slowly, and walked over to my bed, speeding up as he went. When he got within an arm's length, he enveloped me in a hug, trembling. Mary sniffled, putting her arms around both me and Sherlock.

We were like a family, one big, messed up, crazy family. My body shook as I achingly sat up to kiss Mary over Sherlock's shoulder. He still had me in a bear hug, even when Mary finally pulled away. His whole body still trembled, holding me so hard that fresh pain pulsed over the morphine that was in my system.

"Sherl, dear, come on. Let John be." She tugged his arm tentatively, and when he stood up, his eyes were slightly red.

"That's what _she _said to me. Right before she shot him." His voice broke, and Mary enveloped him in a fresh hug.

"It's alright. Oh, it's going to be ok." She rubbed up and down his shaking back, trying to keep him together for my sake.

"I'm not mad at you, you know," I said clearing my throat. It was true; he couldn't have controlled Irene's actions; she chose that herself.

"I don't want you to be upset; I just want us to be ok again. You couldn't have done anything to stop her, and you know it." He pulled back from Mary's hold, taking a deep breath in. He stepped forward, and put his hand out towards me. I shook it, and knew that everything was going to be ok.

They released me from the hospital after a couple of days. Sherlock insisted that he wheel me out, much to Mary's despair; she wanted to as well. They argued about it, but she quickly gave up, realizing how much it meant to him. We were rolling down the main hallway now, and if one thought was flowing through my mind, it was that I was relieved that this mess was all over.

When we wheeled into the waiting room, Lestrade was waiting. He stood when he saw me, and I smiled. He walked over to us, and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"Hi," he said tentatively, as if he was testing the waters. "I know that you, um, you _all_, have been through a lot, and I don't want to bring a rush of memories back too soon, but I have an opportunity for you." He looked at each of us in turn, as if looking for approval to continue.

"What is it?" Sherlock looked at him, trying to determine what was so important.

"Well, I would like to offer you the chance to _catch_ Irene Adler." The breath was suddenly knocked out of me, and everything from the last couple of days flooded back to me. Being tortured. Being dragged. Being threatened. Being shot. But if there was a chance to catch that horrid woman who did this to us, then I would take it without hesitation.

Sherlock seemed to be thinking through the same things as me, because we both answered at the same time. Yes. Lestrade nodded. I looked at Mary, who still seemed unhappy about it, but when I reached up to squeeze her hand, she siled slowly and nodded.

"Come to the station tomorrow, and I will give you everything we have." He turned to leave, pausing to say one more thing.

"I am_ truly_ sorry, John, and I will do everything I can to catch that wretch." With that, he walked out of the hospital.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I got up early the next morning, getting ready, heading over to Sherlock's flat. Mary had insisted on coming with me, and I tried to dissuade her, but to no avail. She was going to meet us at the station later. When I arrived at the flat, Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, staring at the kitchen.

"Good morning. Did you have a good night's sleep?" He was much nicer than usual this morning, being bright and preppy. All uncommon characteristics of the man that I knew. He clapped his hand on the arms of the chair and stood up, walking to the door to grab his coat and scarf. He shrugged them on, flipping the collar up. He turned toward the door, and led the way down towards the awaiting cab.

The ride to the station was silent, which gave me time to think about what we were going to do. How in the world were we going to find an untraceable woman? I had no clue, but I knew that there would be no stopping me once we found her.

The cab pulled into the parking lot, and Sherlock stepped out; I followed. It felt so much like we were reliving what had happened a mere three days ago. It made me well up with panic, but I would not do that. I had to stay calm so we could finish this. I swallowed hard, and began to walk forward.

The station had been left just like it was from that day, except there was police caution tape surrounding Lestrade's office. There was glass all over the floor from where the men broke the window on the door, and there was blood, caked and dried now, where I had been shot.

Sherlock put his hand on my shoulder, tentatively patting me. He was trying to comfort me, and it helped. Mary stood up from a chair in the corner, and walked over to embrace me. Lestrade cleared his throat, and I pulled away.

"I know that you probably think that this whole thing is rubbish; that we won't ever find her, but we have _some_ leads." He led us to a conference room at the side of the room, and we all sat down.

There was tea and breakfast sandwiches out for all of us, and a thick folder in front of each chair. The folders were titled 'INVESTIGATION OF THE WHEREABOUTS OF IRENE ADLER'. I at down, opening the folder in front of me to see photographs of Irene. I sipped my tea while I flipped through them.

The pictures seemed to be snapshots from a security camera; more specifically, the one outside of the station. Us getting out of the cab. The cab door being slammed in Mary's face. The cab speeding away. Irene's cab pulling up. Irene getting out. Us walking into the station. The time stamps went from 10:02 to 11:04, when we came back out of the station.

_We had been in there an hour? It had felt like mere minutes._ The next set of pictures showed Irene running out of the station, a terrified look on her face. The next picture showed the henchmen following her. One of the men walked up to her, and snatched the book from her hands. In the next picture, she looked like she was pleading for something. The other man punched her in the face. He then grabbed her, and threw her into an awaiting car.

The men stepped into the car, and it sped away. It was a black Bentley, but there was no license plate. The only thing left in the pictures was the cars that flew by on the street, blurring the picture.

I looked up, seeing that Sherlock had already looked over the photographs and was now impatiently waiting for everyone else to finish. Mary sat patiently, sipping her tea and looking around the room when her eyes rested on me. _Are you ok? _She seemed to ask with her eyes. Her whole face was covered with concern for me. I nodded my head to indicate that I was ok, and then reached across the table, looking for her hand. She reached out as well, and suddenly, we were just two lovers, sitting in a room, trying to solve an attempted murder case. That's normal, right?

Lestrade had gotten up from his seat, probably to get some more tea. When he came back to his chair, he straightened his papers and looked at each of us in turn. "As you can probably tell, these are pictures from the security camera out front. They are a bit, um, _outdated,_ but they will have to do. What we need to do is find her, based off of this evidence."

Sherlock scoffed. _If he thought this was hard, then it must be impossible_, I thought. He slipped out of his chair and headed toward the crime scene. Sherlock bent over to inspect some dirty footprints on the floor, while I looked at the door handle that led to Lestrade's office. Lestrade assured me that it had not been touched, as they had left the scene for us, and I stood.

"There should be, um, fingerprints on the door handle? I think so." I still couldn't figure out why the evidence team hadn't done anything to the crime scene, but I kept my mouth shut about that.

"Um, there are none." Lestrade looked uncomfortable, telling me this piece of information. "We already checked." Then I remembered. All of the men were wearing gloves, which matched their jet black suits. How could I have forgotten? At least one of them was holding me for pretty much the _entire time_ this all went down. And we already knew who Irene was, so there was no point in trying to lift her fingerprints. Nothing. I had nothing.

I turned to see what Sherlock was doing. He was dusting the floor where the boot print was, picking a small amount up on the edge of his finger. He looked at it, observing it, then slowly lifting his finger to his nose, smelling it. He shook the dirt off his hand quickly, and stood up. He pulled out his phone and typed furiously.

"What are you doing?" I asked, trying to make sense of the situation. He waved my question away and kept typing. He stared at the phone, as if waiting for something, and it suddenly chimed. He smiled and turned to us.

"She's in Newbury!" He said triumphantly, silencing the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Well, one of the guards is there, at least."

"Where?" I asked, confused again. _Why was I getting so easily confused lately?_ It must be all the memories that were flooding through my head, about everything that had happened. It felt like I was dying all over again, for every memory that my mind could grab hold of was now flashing by. It was like my life in a supersonic slideshow.

"Newbury, Berkshire." He looked at me expectantly, expecting me to understand. We both stood there, waiting for the other to say something, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I did not understand. I had already had enough of his wits today, and I was not anytime soon going to let him win his game again. Thankfully, Lestrade stepped in and helped me out.

"And _how _exactly did you figure this out?" Lestrade had a confused look on his face, like he was just as lost as I. I was grateful, but at the same time, I felt bad that he had to take the blunt force of Sherlock's arrogance. Sherlock sighed, shaking his head probably wondering once again how our "_funny little minds_" work. But I had had enough.

"Could you just tell us, _please?_ I want to get this whole ordeal over with. So please, for _once, _not be a complete jerk." Mary stepped forward, grabbing my arm.

"John, come on. I'm sure he didn't mean it like that." I slid my arm from her grasp; I loved that she wanted to be there for me, but this was not the time.

"Yes he did, and he knows it." I glared at him, and he looked back at me.

"No, you're right," he said slowly, choosing his words with precision, "I should've been more sympathetic. I can understand how this would be somewhat _hard._" For once, I actually believed that he was being sincere. I nodded slowly, and he started his explanation.

"The dirt on his boot. It left a print on the floor. The boot, judging from the size of the shoe, is a men's, meaning it was one of the guards. We know it was one of the guards and not one of us because the day that this all happened," he said, spreading his arms wide, "both of the men had dried mud on their shoes." He was talking very quickly now, and if I hadn't been paying close attention, I would have missed when he paused to take a breath.

"When I smelled the dirt, it was familiar, because my mother used it last year when she made Mycroft and I help her plant her garden. I then asked my mother what brand of dirt she used last year, and she promptly told me that the brand she used was in fact Rolawn Turf and Lawn Seeding Topsoil, an organic brand made _only _in Heslington, York, which is a farming town." He stopped, looking at each of us in turn, enjoying his genius. I struggled to keep up, but I managed to form a question.

"And why would they be in Heslington?" I asked, trying to find a flaw in his logic. "Exactly."


	10. Chapter 10: Sherlock

Chapter 10: Sherlock

A cold breeze hit me when I stepped out of the cab. We were in the town square of Heslington, York, which was three and a half hours away from London. We had borrowed Mycroft's plane, (or, the English government's, I couldn't ever tell which was which,) which irritated me immensely. There was no reason that I deemed fit that shined logic on the fact that we were receiving help from my _brother._ The fact infuriated me, but I hadn't really had a choice in the matter.

When I had _finally _gotten John to understand why we needed to go to York, he had brought up the solution to fix our problem of no transportation. I would have would have been impartial to take a cab, however long that would have taken, just to avoid Mycroft. But since this case had a particular sensitivity pertaining to John, I receded. We had talked to Mycroft, and had gotten the plane.

Time was of the essence, for they could be packing up right now, readying to leave so they could find a new place to hide. Those cowards. What I kept wondering, though, is why they needed a farm. What could they possibly be doing which made them need so much dirt? The answer was eluding me, and it frustrated me immensely. I hated it when I did not have the answer to something, more than most anything else in the world. Except, maybe, Irene.

She was still so hard to think about. Why though? Why could I not get _over _her? She was so arrogant and snotty and downright rude, but, if I had to admit to myself one thing, it would be that she had swept me off of my feet. _Focus._

I had to find the _specific _farm that her and her gang of thugs were hiding out at, and fast, because as I said, time was of the essence.

"Lestrade?" I turned, watching him get out of the cab.

"Yes, Sherlock?" He stood, straightening his coat in the process.

"Do you have your computer?"

"Well yes," he said, turning to pull his computer case out of the waiting cab. I turned and walked toward the nearest building, a coffee shop named "The Cup", and he started to yell after me.

"Hey! Sherlock! What are you doing?" Despite the lack of answer, he followed me towards "The Cup".

When I entered, I walked to the back of the room and took the booth that was there. Lestrade came in moments later, with John on his tail. They sat down side by side on the other side of me, Lestrade huffing but pulling out his computer.

"You know, _normal _people answer other people when they are asked questions." Lestrade huffed again, looking away from his computer screen to look me in the eye.

"And when have I ever been normal?" I said, grinning and turning to the waitress that was walking up to us.

"What would you like, sir?" She smiled, her pen and pad awaiting my order.

"Tea, please. And tea for them, to," I said, cutting off John. He eyed me, but gave up after a few moments to look at the waitress.

"Ok, I will have your tea soon," she said, slipping away from the table. Lestrade finished typing something, and looked at me.

"So what do you need me to do on my computer?"

"I need you to look up pieces of land in this town that have plots of farm land surrounding them." He nodded, and started to type. I couldn't wait for his slow typing, though, so I slid the computer from his hand, turning the screen to face me.

"Hey!" He was genuinely mad this time, his eyes glowing with fire. He reached for the laptop, but I held up my finger, and surprisingly, he stopped. I typed quickly, my eyes scanning the pages and quickly moving on to the next. I was rapidly searching through police database maps, ruling out property by property. It was painstakingly slow though, even with my skills; even my quickness was making me agitated. I stopped typing, and looked up, smirking with satisfaction.

"Well, what is it?" Lestrade asked impatiently.

"I found our men."


	11. Chapter 11: Sherlock

Chapter 11: Sherlock

"And how do you suppose you did that?" Lestrade looked doubtful, but I was positive.

"The largest buyer of the dirt I told you about is Bleak House Farm, which is 15 minutes from the Soil shop.

"So what? That could just be a big farm? We have no evidence that proves that this is the place that we are looking for."

"They might as well have put a bid sign on the top of their farm, saying 'WE ARE THE BAD GUYS. PLEASE COME AND ARREST US.'" Lestrade was getting very frustrated now, but I could not have been enjoying it more immensely.

"And _why, pray tell, _would that be the case?" He rested his arms on the table, sighing and waiting for his answer.

"Because Bleak House Farm has not sold farming goods in over a year." The grin took hold of my face, and I didn't try to stop it. I would win now, and _she_ would not. I would have them in a matter of minutes, and there was nothing she could do to stop me.

"Well, let's go then." Lestrade stood up slowly, taking his tea with him. I left my tea untouched, though, for there were more important things right now than sipping tea. I would have some later, though, when Irene and her band of thugs were safely in jail, and John could not be hurt again. John followed me, absentmindedly, as I walked through the shop and into the street. It took a few minutes for John to hail a taxi, but he eventually did, and we piled into the back seat. I could not help smiling, for I was winning the game that Irene herself had designed. And if I could beat _her _at her _own game,_ then nothing in the entire world could stop me.


	12. Chapter 12: John

Chapter 12: John

As we left the main part of town to head towards our destination, the amount of cars slowed down to almost none. I would see a car pass us every few minutes, but other than that, we were alone on the road. Lestrade had already called the York's police, and their SWAT team was going to meet us at the farm.

Sherlock was grinning ear to ear, almost bouncing up and down with anticipation of the upcoming events. I, however, was ready for this this whole dreadful affair to be over. Mary was home, waiting for me to return, probably worried sick, and I couldn't blame her. It had been a rough couple of days for the both of us. Sherlock had been through a lot as well, but he didn't seem to care at the moment. Even though I had been in the military, and I had killed before, (many a time, in fact, too many for me to care to think about,) I had never come across a time where I had felt more helpless.

Farms passed us on the left and right, there crops growing tall, as it was almost time for the harvest. I wondered how many people had driven this road before, unaware that they weren't ten miles from being in the presence of liars, cheaters, _killers._ But it didn't matter, because it would be over soon. I kept telling myself that, to reassure that it was going to happen. I didn't understand _why_ I was so worried_._ I just had to get my mind off of it, and thinking about something else. That would solve the problem just fine.

"So, what is the plan?" I leaned forward, folding my hands in my lap and looking across the cab at Lestrade.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock interjected, cutting off the trail of words that were about to come out of Lestrade's mouth.

"I _meant,_ what is going to happen when we get there?" I said, turning away from Sherlock to reface Lestrade.

"Well, you two will stay in the car while the SWAT team clears the building. That way you will be as far from harm as possible. Once they finish the sweep, trying to keep anyone in there alive, you can go in. You can question the criminals if you like. I don't know, really. To be honest, I'm just as nervous as you are." He was wringing his hands now, talking in a way that made me skeptical of the entire plan.

Why, though? Why did I have any reason to be skeptical at all? There was nothing to fear. Maybe it was just this case, and how personal it had gotten. The sooner this whole ordeal was over, the better.

The cabbie turned left onto a dirt road, and Lestrade pulled out his gun.

"Look, remember what I just said," he said, aiming his words at Sherlock more than me, "do _not _get out of the car unless I tell you to. You will move to a police car so the cabbie can leave, but other than that, you are not allowed the step foot outside. And that is a _direct _order from a _police officer._ If you disobey, I can send you to jail. Got that Sherlock?" He looked at Sherlock expectantly, waiting for confirmation that Sherlock had understood. He understood, I knew that, it was just a matter of if he would obey or not.

After several long seconds, he nodded his head slowly, and Lestrade relaxed again.

"Ok, then. This shouldn't take long." The cab reached the top of a hill, and the farm came into view. It was old, paint peeling, the roof in shackles, and the fence surrounding the house collapsed. We didn't get to see it for long, though, for Lestrade ordered the cabbie to back up so we couldn't be seen.

"What now?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Now we wait for the SWAT team," Lestrade said coolly, closing his eyes for a moment and taking in a big breath of air. He leaned back onto the seat and closed his eyes.

"Just think, gentlemen; in a few minutes, this whole mess will be behind us. Irene Adler will be in jail, having been given the proper justice she deserves. So you needn't worry, Sherlock, for soon, everything will be as it should."

"I'm not _worried,_ Lestrade, for that would suggest that I have _emotions_. I am not nervous, I am just impatient. I have already spent enough time on this case, and I'd rather like for it to be finished." He raised his eyebrows at Lestrade, almost daring him to provide a counter. Lestrade just shrugged, closing his eyes once more.

I looked out the window, studying the landscape. There were rolling hills, full of overgrown grass. It must have been a beautiful place before it had been owned by these terrorists. _Those vile people,_ I thought. _They threaten not only people's lives, but their entire livelyhood. Their homes, their careers, their livelihoods._ _And the worst part is that they do not care._ _It was despicable._

It had only felt like seconds had gone by when the SWAT truck pulled up. Silent but swift, the men piled out of the back of the truck and positioned their guns toward the house. Lestrade led us out of the cab, and the cabbie pulled away. He motioned toward the back of the SWAT truck, and I stepped up into it.

There was a long black bench on either side of the truck, with small cubbies above each of them. That was where their gear must be held. I turned and sat on one side as Sherlock entered the vehicle. He sat across from me, giving me a look of distain. It was clear that he did not like being stuck in the back of this truck while the operation took place, but I knew he didn't have a choice. Lestrade shut the door behind Sherlock, and we were left in silence.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

We waited, staring at each other, for what seemed like hours. We had not heard back from Lestrade, or anyone for that matter, since we had been escorted into the SWAT truck. I could not hear anything of what was going on outside. We were like fish ready to be caught; so miserable that even being taken by Irene and her thugs would be better than our current situation.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

"So…" He looked up at me, tying to urge me to start a conversation. Anything but this dreadful silence.

"So… I have been thinking," I said, searching for a topic of interest.

"Oh, you've been doing that again? Nothing good ever comes when you do that." A smile danced across his face, and I couldn't help but laugh. The old Sherlock was back.

"Well," I said, choking back another round of laughter, "It's been a long time since we've talked. Just about whatever, and not having to use formalities or anything like that. I've, well, I've sort of missed it." His smile faded as he looked up at me.

"Actually, I have too." He put his hand on my shoulder, looking me directly in the eye.

"You know I'm not one to share _feelings _or anything of that sort, but I have to admit. I _have _missed the way things used to be before Mary came along. We were _very_ distanced when all of this," he said, spreading his arms, "started to happen. And I don't want that to happen again. _Ever_." He leaned in until his lips were right next to my ear. "In truth, I have missed seeing you every day," he whispered.

I leaned back, looking into his eyes. "I agree. We need to see each other more. You know that you are welcome at Mary's and my flat anytime, right?" He looked at me, giving me a look of suppressed sorrow.

"Oh, come here," I said, wrapping him up in a giant hug. He blew a deep breath out, like he was trying not to show any emotions. We stayed that way for a while, me hugging him and him gulping in huge breaths and then releasing them. It was true, we hadn't seen each other as much as we used to. In fact, the night that we were taken was the first time I had been to his flat in a month. It had been too long.

Eventually, he pulled back and sat up straight again. He shook his head, looking at the floor.

"You should join us for dinner sometime. How about this weekend?" He looked up at me, a glint of hope in his eyes.

"Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing on you and Mary?" He looked like an abandoned puppy, waiting for the right person to pick him and take him home.

"I'm sure. You come over, and we'll have a splendid time. In fact, I'll call Mary right now and set this whole thing up." I pulled out my phone and started to dial her number, but I stopped when the back door of the truck was flung open. Standing there, looking beaten and terrified, was Irene.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Please, you have to help me. They will kill me. Help. Please!" She tried to pull herself into the back of the truck, but a policeman grabbed her and yanked her back.

"Please! They will kill me before I can tell you anything! Help me! They will kill me!" She had lost the small amount of composure that she had left, sobbing and frantically trying to reach the truck. Sherlock was in some sort of stunned silence, so I asked the obvious question.

"What are you talking about? Who is going to kill you?" I was so confused, and I needed Sherlock, but he was unresponsive.

"My captors! The same as yours! They used me, and now that I am of no use to them, I will die. Please, John! Don't let this happen." She elbowed the policeman in the face, and he brought his hands up to his face. She tore away from him and ran to the truck once more. She grabbed me, getting right up close to my face.

"Jacob Bu..." A shot rang out in the distance, and Irene's chest was suddenly stained red. She gasped, grasping her chest and falling backward out of the truck. I grabbed her with both hands, just barely keeping her from going sprawling in the dirt. Sherlock finally snapped out of his stupor and helped me bring her back into the truck. We set her down on the floor, and Sherlock unwrapped his scarf from his neck, pressing it on her chest.

The policeman who was holding her jumped into the back of the truck still holding his face, shouting behind him. Another policeman shut the door to the truck, and we started moving.

"Why did you shoot her?!" I shouted, furious. She could have cracked this case wide open, but now here she was, dying.

"I didn't do this!" He shouted back, looking at me. I had no clue what to do. This whole chain of events had been bizarre, and I just wanted to solve this. I grabbed her, making her face me.

"Look," I said, trying to keep her alive, "you can do this. We need you. You have to help us if you want whoever did this to come to justice." I held her head off the ground, frantic. She wasn't going to make it. I knew it. I had had too much experience with wounds to not see that _this_ wound would be fatal.

She turned her head towards Sherlock. He had been sitting there, staring at her. She grabbed his collar, making him bend over so she could whisper something in his ear. He took a sharp intake of breath, and when he pulled away, she leaned forward and kissed him. She took hold of the back of his neck and pulled him closer, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back slowly, speaking just loud enough that I could hear. It was only three words, crisp and clear.

As she leaned away from him, she said, "I love you."


	15. Chapter 15: Sherlock

Chapter 15: Sherlock

Her lips felt warm on mine. As much as I hated to admit it, she had made me feel warm all over. She was the only one who had ever swept me off my feet. But still, she had _swept me off my feet._ I had never cared for someone more than her. Well, _John, _but, no. I shook my head. There were too many things going on at once. I had never been baffled before, but, I guess this was a time of firsts.

I held her, not knowing what else to do. She looked at me carefully, as if she would never see me again. She probably wouldn't. She stroked my hair gently, taking in every aspect of me.

"I—I want you to know that I am, _truly, _sorry." Her voice broke, and her eyelids began to droop. "I didn't want this to happen to you. But I had no choice." She took my hand, grasping it hard. "And if I had to die, I'm glad it's in your arms." Her arm slowly fell from my head, and the hand that held mine eventually became limp. I rocked her back and forth, slowly, willing her to live again. But she didn't. She was dead.

I bent down slowly, analyzing her every feature. She was so beautiful. How could I have not realized it until then? I brushed a stray hair from her cheek. Oh, how I would miss her. Slowly, then with more assurance, I met her lips with mine.

Her lips weren't as warm now, but she still smelled faintly of flowers. I closed my eyes, trying to imprint her lips into my memory. I didn't want to forget her. No, I didn't want to forget her anytime soon.


	16. Chapter 16: John

Chapter 16: John

When Sherlock finally sat back up from kissing her, his eyes were watery. I didn't say anything, though, because I knew how much she had meant to him. No matter what she had done, it had not been out of hatred. Whatever she did, she did because she did not have any other choice.

Sherlock sighed. Gently, he laid her body on the floor of the truck, moving away so the medic could examine her. Yes, we were at the hospital. But it was too late.

The medic checked her pulse, and slowly shook his head. He signaled to some other men that were out of view, and a stretcher carrying a body bag was wheeled up to the back of the truck.

We watched as the men gradually moved her into the bag, zip it up, and move away. She was gone, but not really. Her blood stained the floor, and Sherlock was covered in it. He didn't seem to notice, though, for he had a distant look in his eyes. He sat there for a while, staring at the floor, even after everyone had left the truck.

I was standing outside, watching him. Maybe we needed to stop our involvement in this case. Maybe Lestrade needed to carry on the investigation on his own, for there had been too much pain than either of us could deal with. I had never seen Sherlock show this much emotion. It was like he was almost, well, human. It hurt me to see him like that.

"Hey." Lestrade had walked up and was now standing beside me, looking over at Sherlock.

"Hi," I said, clearing my throat. Sherlock had been sitting there, looking off into space, for twenty minutes now. I was starting to get worried.

"I think, I think it would be best if Sherlock and I stopped our involvement in this investigation. It has just been, well, too close to home. I think we're done." Lestrade nodded.

"Yes, I think that would be for the best."


	17. Chapter 17: Sherlock

Chapter 17: Sherlock

She was the only one who had ever beaten me. She was the only one to ever catch me off guard. She was the only one who had the power to confuse my thoughts. She was mesmerizing. We had been through so much together, even though the time had been short. I remembered when we met; she had been naked. Who walks into a room with strangers in it while being naked? She did.

My thoughts were so simple now; I couldn't form a solid string of thoughts, for they were so jumbled. Why had she always left me befuddled? When she had kissed me I didn't know what to do. I had never kissed anyone before. She just leaned forward and planted her lips on mine, even though everyone was watching. She was so, amazing. I had had no clue what to do after she kissed me. Once again, she had taken me completely by surprise. It just seemed, right, to kiss her one last time. She was my first, and I was her last.

Gosh. What was I being so stupid? She was _one _woman out of _millions. _How could I not get over her? My feelings for her had been so jumbled up until the point at which she kissed me. Then I knew what I had been missing. It was no physical attraction, for I did not do that kind of thing, but more like an intellectual attraction. I had finally found my match. She knew what I was thinking, sometimes even before I did. How could I have not realized before? Her greatest deception; beating me one last time.

There was one thing that I knew for sure; she would be missed. I had felt, what were they? Emotions? I think I had felt them with her. I couldn't be for sure, though, for it was my first experience with those things. Not love, not like, but something in between. She had, swept me off my feet, I guess. It was, a whirlwind. I had no clue what to say. Another first; I was speechless.


	18. Chapter 18: John

Chapter 18: John

We didn't really say anything to each other on the plane ride home. Sherlock sort of just stared out of the window the whole time. Me, well, I watched him. Sherlock came over that weekend, just as planned, and we had a great time. Sherlock still had a distant look in his eye, though, like everything he did was half-hearted.

I couldn't feign understanding what he felt, even though I had experienced terrible loss; his loss, in fact. His relationship with her was very complicated. I talked to Mary about it, and she said it was best just to leave it be. Sherlock always seemed to have a way of straightening things out on his own.

If you're wondering, whoever you are, how the case ended, I do not know. Lestrade never told me. And I don't want to know.

**Hey guys! Thanks to all who stuck with my story until the end, for I know it is pretty long. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and if you did (or even if you didn't,) I'd love for you guys to leave comments so I know what I can do better. (Constructive comments only, please.) Thanks!**


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